Afrika Korps Command Post — El Alamein, December 21, 1941
The canvas of the command tent fluttered in the desert wind. Inside, over a campaign table cluttered with maps, reports, and overflowing ashtrays, part of the Afrika Korps staff had gathered.
Erwin Rommel stood with sleeves rolled up, studying the front-line sketch with a stern expression. The last days of combat had been costly… but he had won.
—And still —he said, tapping a sector of the map with a pencil—, if it hadn't been for this unit here… the left flank would've collapsed.
Colonel Schmidt, from the Heer, frowned.
—The Leibstandarte?
—Yes.
—With respect, Herr General, not all of us here are comfortable having SS units operating within our regular formations. They don't answer to the same command structure. Their priorities...
Rommel looked up.
—Priorities? Their priority here was not to die—and not to let us die.I don't care whether they wear runes or eagles on their uniforms.I care if they hold their ground when the enemy comes.And these men did. One of their Panzers, alone, stopped an entire counterattack. No other unit managed that yesterday.
Silence settled over the tent.
**
—And who was the commander? —another officer asked, flipping through a report.
—Falk Ritter. SS-Oberscharführer.I still don't know how he's alive, but we'll sort that out with a medal.And a wider command.
**
Schmidt folded his arms, still unconvinced.
—And if one day they don't answer your orders? What then? Trust in their loyalty?
Rommel walked slowly over to him. He stopped directly in front. His tone wasn't aggressive—but it was final.
—They've answered me with fire, discipline, and results.When others retreated, they advanced. When radios failed, they held the line.Do you want me to worry about their doctrinal purity… or their effectiveness?
No one responded.
**
Rommel returned to the map, marked the next axis of advance, and added in a quieter voice:
—I don't care what corps they come from. If they fight like that, they're under my protection and my operational command.And in my army, that weighs more than any ideology.
**
Outside, the sun still burned the desert.Inside, the war kept drawing its lines.But that day, respect wasn't earned through insignias—only through blood.